Fifty Things More Evil Than Spike
by keswindhover
Summary: Spike and Dawn compile a list....


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Fifty Things More Evil Than Spike

PAIRING: None

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RATING: PG-13

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FEEDBACK: Very welcome, to keswindhover@yahoo.co.uk

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SETTING: Immediately following the events of Tabula Rasa in Season 6.

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DISCLAIMER: I'm only borrowing, and I promise to put everyone all back in good condition.

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NOTE: Okay, I've been writing something sad, and my natural inclination is to write fluff, so I felt the need to revert briefly. So here, about a year late - but who's counting? - is a very snappy (1,500 word) response to one of Valerie's season 6 challenges. You can find her site at www.bandofbuggered.com

Spike lay on the coffin in the middle of his crypt, a whisky bottle clutched to his chest, and a half smoked cigarette in the other hand. He took a moody swig of the whisky and followed it up with a deep pull on his cigarette. What was it about him and women anyway? Why did he always fall for the infuriatingly inconsistent, totally unreliable, frankly bug fuck crazy representatives of womankind? Why not someone straightforward? Buffy wasn't even _dead_. And live women were so bloody difficult. He gave a big, infuriated sigh. _You've been had in more ways than one now, haven't you, Spike old son?_

At that moment the door to his crypt creaked open, and someone on tippy toes crept into the room. A faint aroma of perfume, pizza, and human girl wafted to Spike's nose. 

Oh, God, thought Spike, wearily, as if one of 'em in a day isn't enough. Now I get the cadet version too.

"Hey Spike," said Dawn brightly, "whatcha doing?"

Spike growled, and swung up into a sitting position. "I _was _sleeping," he said.

"Huh," said Dawn. "Isn't it dangerous sleeping with a lit cigarette in your hand, and whisky splashed all over the place? You could have a nasty accident." She stepped up to stand in front of him and shook her head disapprovingly.

Spike stared at the glowing fag-end in his head. Now there was an idea. He looked up, "Mind your own business, short stuff," he said.

"Is this about Buffy, said Dawn. "I bet it's about Buffy - isn't it? I saw you two, you know - ugh!" She shuddered slightly. "Looked like you were trying to suck her face off. Totally gross." She made a blech noise.

"It was not gross!" Spike jumped to his feet and launched his whisky bottle at the wall. It hit with a satisfying smash, the broken glass scattering to join all the other shattered whisky bottles on the floor. Dawn rolled her eyes, as Spike pushed past her and stalked to the back of the crypt and pulled out another bottle.

"You're turning into an Alcoholic," said Dawn primly. "Every time you experience stress, you turn to the bottle. It's a classic sign." Spike's arm twitched towards the wall, and the new bottle trembled in his hand. With an effort he stilled his arm, unscrewed the bottle top with great care, and then took a deep swig.

"See?" said Dawn. Spike's arm trembled again. 

"You know," Dawn went on chattily, "everyone's going to be real upset when they find out you're Buffy's new boyfriend. But I think it's kinda cool." 

"I am NOT anyone's boyfriend, said Spike between gritted teeth. "I am a vampire, not Andy bloody Hardy." He sucked dramatically on his cigarette, then threw the butt end at the wall. It hit the spilled whisky, which lit up with a satisfying 'whomp!'

Dawn rolled her eyes again, and folded her arms. "Well, you're behaving like a boyfriend," she said disapprovingly. "Hanging around her, moping and brooding."

"I am not brooding," shouted Spike, "I am agonising. Which is utterly, totally different." He clutched the whisky bottle to his chest.

"Brooding, agonising, call it what you want," said Dawn, "it's classic boyfriend behavior. Or classic Buffy boyfriend behavior anyway. She brings it out in guys." She stepped forward, and poked Spike in the chest with one long finger. "What you need to do, is to take action," she said, "instead of brooding."

"I am not brood- oh, never mind," said Spike. He began to pace about the crypt. "And there isn't any action for me to take. He regarded his black painted nails broodingly. "I'm evil. She's not. End of story."

"Oh, fiddley dee," said Dawn. "There are loads of things way more evil than you, now you've got that chip in."

"Are not," said Spike.

"Are so," said Dawn. 

...............

"Okay, okay, so I ran out at twenty three," said Dawn. "But that's still a lot of things more evil than you. And there are loads and loads of people who talk in movie theaters. If you counted all of them, I would be way over fifty. In fact I would be up in the thousands, if not the hundreds of thousands...."

Spike took a long, long drink from his whisky bottle. He had sunk despairingly on to the coffin again, as he listened to Dawn's collection of pet hates. "There's no point anyway," he said, "It's not going to change anything. My love is doomed." He threw the empty bottle at the wall, where it broke into a hundred pieces.

"Well, now who's being a wimp?" said Dawn. She tapped her notepad importantly. "At least _I_'vedone something. Unlike you." 

"Chuffy little bugger, aren't you?" said Spike darkly. He staggered to his feet, and turned towards his whisky stash.

"I've done more than you managed," said Dawn. "and I'm taller than you. Or I would be if you ever took those lifts out of your boots. Don't think we haven't noticed them. Because we have." She pointed accusingly at the suspiciously thick soles of Spike's boots.

Spike's chest swelled ominously. "Don't you start on the bloody height thing," he said. "I got enough of that from An-_gel_-arse over the years."

"Oh sorry," said Dawn, not sounding sorry at all, "did I hit a sensitive spot there? And, ooh! There's another thing more evil than Spike! Angelus!" She started scribbling excitedly on her pad.

"Bloody nonsense!" yelled Spike, exasperated. "I am way more evil than that bugger. I've killed loads more people than him, the great big wuss." He grabbed Dawn's pencil and pad from her, and scored out Angelus' name with a firm black line.

Dawn snatched the pad back, offended. "Ok, ok, she said. "So,_ not_ Angelus. Or Angel, I suppose, since he's been off saving people and stuff."

"Bloody right," said Spike. "And I have thick soles on my boots so I can crush mortals' ribs underfoot with more ease - that's all. Nothing to do with my height."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Dawn. "We all like totally believe you - now can we move on, please." She tapped the pad again. "Another twenty seven to go," she said thoughtfully, "and I haven't even started on the really evil, evil things, like demons, and other vampires, and Hell Gods and stuff." 

............

The door of the crypt flew open. Buffy stood on the threshold outlined in the moonlight.

"Where is she, Spike?" she yelled. "I know she's here." She strode into the room, brandishing a stake, and stopped dead at the sight of Dawn and Spike sitting side by side on a coffin poring over a small notepad.

"Hi Buffy!" said Dawn brightly, "Just in time. Spike wants to be your boyfriend." She ignored the surly growl emanating from Spike, and jumped down from the coffin. "He says you won't go out with him because of the whole being evil thing, but he's really not very evil any more. More of a fluffy puppy dog than an evil monster, really." There was another growl, louder this time. "And," said Dawn triumphantly, "there are loads of things more evil than Spike - fifty at least." She brandished the notepad.

"Are you mad, Dawn?" said Buffy, as she grabbed the notepad and read it greedily. There was a long, long pause. 

Buffy's lips moved "Britney Spears, Adam, Avril Lavigne..." she squinted, "...and does that say Angelus, under the scribbling out?" She looked up at Dawn. "You have an interesting sense of priorities."

"They're alphabetical," said Dawn impatiently, "except for Britney Spears - she had to be at the top."

"Great first album," said Spike, "then she totally sold out. Evil."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Well it's a point of view," she said. Her eyes moved down. There was a pause. "Parcheesi, pants, Parker," said Buffy in a strangled tone. "What's wrong with pants?"

"Not just any pants," said Dawn impatiently, "read what it says _properly_."

Buffy looked down again. "Pants, capri" she read. She looked up, eyes narrowed, "Capri pants?!" she said, "I've got several pairs of capri pants."

"We know," said Spike. "And the Niblet's right. They're evil. Get rid of 'em."

Buffy's eyes were still moving down the list. After a moment she slammed the notepad to the ground, her face alarmingly flushed. "Warren, Willow, White off-the-shoulder blouses? My white off-the-shoulder blouse is bee-ootiful," she said furiously. "And you are both completely cracked." She grabbed Dawn's arm and dragged her away. "You are coming home, Missy!" she said. And you!" She pointed dramatically at Spike, "Mr Purple-Silk-Shirt undone-to-the-waist. How dare you make comments about my blouse _or_ my capri pants? Oh, we are so through!" And Buffy stomped out, dragging Dawn behind her. 

Spike took a long satisfied swig from his whisky bottle. "We're through, are we?" he said. "That means we must have been going out in the first place. Bloody beautiful." And he sat down on his coffin again with a big sappy grin on his face.


End file.
